


Thistle Thorns

by Ryukin



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Flirting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Penetrative Sex, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-06-23 16:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15610050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryukin/pseuds/Ryukin
Summary: Thistles are a hearty plant. They thrive when unwanted, roots strong enough to grow back when mowed down. They are strong in a field of flowers, beautiful in a patch of weeds. They sustain. They survive. They live.Daryl thinks he is none of these things.Paul thinks he is everything.





	1. Chapter 1

****

Paul moved like a breeze through the field of wildflowers taking over the lot around the country store he was about to raid. He paused in the parking lot at a truck overtaken by rust, pausing in the window for anything good or a needle on the gas gauge saying anything hopeful. Nothing obvious, so he penciled it in for further examination later. 

 

An overturned trash can at the door to the market wasn't the best omen he could have hoped for as he rounded the corner, but it could still have been knocked over by a grabby raccoon or one of the stumbling dead. Just because it looked pawed through didn't mean anything. 

 

The broken windows of the store were a worse sight, though, and he screwed his face up in disappointment. Stepping through the shards remaining in the window like a tetanus laden theft deterrent, he stood amidst a whirlwind of destruction. There was nothing left in the store - shelves had been tossed, boxes emptied and scattered, even the cash register was pounded open. The place must have been scavenged early on after the dead started coming back to bite the world on its ass. 

 

Back out the window, he took a moment to look around further. There wasn't much in the lot besides the rusted truck. That's why he and Daryl thought it would be a sure fire score, a lonely store in the middle of nowhere was likely to have something of merit inside. 

 

There was something solid hiding amidst the flower stalks, still and dark as the cheery blooms waved around in the breeze. Maybe the score he was hoping for. 

 

He pushed through the waist high flowers and the walkie talkie at his hip fuzzed.

 

“ _ Stop traipsing around the damn flowers and let's go. _ ”

 

He chuckled and hit the talkie button as he continued to walkie. “Why Daryl, that's a wonderful three point word, there. Care to give the class the definition?”

 

“ _ Quit fucking around. _ "

 

Paul pulled the bandana from his face and cocked a smile in the direction Daryl was stationed with binoculars and his crossbow. “A true gentleman and scholar, Mister Dixon.” He walked up on the thing in the grass and sighed. 

 

The body had been there a while; decomposition had withered it away to bones. All bones but the skull, as the head was missing. He nudged what was left with the toe of his boot, turning it over. 

 

And there was his score.

 

A gun tucked in the thing’s waistband gleamed chrome in the sun. A wicked, large thing - at the very least, it could deliver a hell of a blow. At best, it had a full clip. 

 

He knelt in the tall grass, feeling it tickle his face and ears as it blew around. A quick pat down of the corpse gave up nothing so he grabbed the gun and barely stifled a cry as something whizzed by his head and  _ shnick _ into the ground behind him. He saw the orange fletching of Daryl's arrow as he crouched up, trying to see what he was shooting. 

 

“ _ Stand down, _ ” Daryl's voice cracked through the walkie talkie. “ _ Just found dinner. _ ”

 

Paul was slow to stand, but when he did, he saw a rabbit pinned to the ground. The arrow shaft was still quivering as he grabbed it and grumbled into the walkie, “I could have got that. Scared the shit out of me.”

 

Daryl's voice was cocky, even over the speaker. “ _ Weren't gonna have you ninja kick dinner. Be pickin’ splintered ribs outta the meat all night. _ ”

 

“Okay then, show off. I guess you buy, I fly. Nothing down here but Thumper. Be right up.”

 

“ _ Better. Wastin’ time. _ ”

 

Paul grabbed the rabbit by its not so lucky anymore back foot, avoiding the slow dribble of blood running down the body. He tucked the gun in the back of his pants and did a quick search of the abandoned truck. He found nothing but a few old cassette tapes from bands popular before his time and in a different part of the country. He did tuck one proclaiming ‘STOP SMOKING NOW:  HYPNOSIS MAGIC’ in his pocket and started up the hill to Daryl and their ride. 

 

A few steps out and something nipped at his heels. He carefully dodged sideways, wary of snakes nesting in the grass. 

 

Oh. 

 

The corpse’s missing head. It was all snapping teeth at that point, fruitlessly searching for meat when it had no stomach to put it in. A quick flash of steel put it out of its misery. Paul wiped his knife on his pants before sliding it back in the sheath at his belt. 

 

He ran his hand through the flowers and weeds growing tall around him, grabbing a quick handful of blooms. He saw the sedan they had driven out of Hilltop before he saw Daryl. The man would have been invisible in the grass if Paul hadn't known where to look. 

 

He ran his hand over his beard, looking down at Daryl in the dirt. Daryl slowly kneeled, stiff from laying still in the chilly morning air. Paul grinned and cocked his hip. “Hey, is this a pistol in my pants, or am I just glad to see you?” He whipped the weapon out while Daryl grunted his lack of amusement, twirling it around to hand the hilt to Daryl as he stood. 

 

“Nice,” Daryl commented gruffly. 

 

“Also, your rabbit,” Paul handed him the carcass, “And a token of my appreciation." While Daryl was juggling everything in his hands, Paul tucked a thick purple thistle behind his ear, pushing his hair back from his scowling face. 

 

“Damnit,” Daryl swore as he shouldered his bow and stowed the new gun in his own belt. He swiped  at the foliage in his hair and swore again as the thorny stem snagged his skin. “You little shit, what is that?”

 

“I thought it would bring out the color of your eyes,” Paul answered, rocking on his feet. “I was right.”

 

Daryl tried to extract the thistle, only catching it further. “You put a damn weed in my hair, what the fuck.”

 

Paul sighed, watching Daryl struggle. He cursed the thorns and Paul reached to help him. “Here, let me. I'm sorry.”

 

“No you ain't.” He pushed Paul's hands away. “Get ‘way.” Thoroughly tangled, he gave up and turned back to the car. “Asshole,” he called over his shoulder. 

 

Paul jumped to catch up. “I didn't mean to make you mad, I was just playing.”

 

“Damn idiot, shit's covered in thorns. Damn weed.”

 

“Sooo - you're not mad I put a flower in your hair?” He opened the driver's door as Daryl ducked into the passenger's side. Paul looked over at him scowling out the window. “Just that it's not a more flowery flower?”

 

If Daryl was the eye rolling type, Paul knew they would be spinning by then. He sat in silence instead, waiting for Paul to get going. 

 

“Okay, then,” Paul muttered behind a smile, barely resisting the urge to tap Daryl's thigh as he turned the key. “Let's roll, pretty pretty princess.” He laughed as Daryl glowered at him and they drove in companionable silence.   
  



	2. Chapter 2

Their first stop was Alexandria, bringing freshly forged weapons to fill the growing void they had in their armory. The population had been slowly expanding since the war. Their scouts had been bringing back people from the outside every couple of weeks, on top of the women from Oceanside, workers from the Sanctuary, and Kingdomers and Hilltoppers alike expanding their horizons to Alexandria. 

 

Work had been steady but slow to fix the city after Negan’s attacks. There just weren’t enough supplies to fill the need. Rick had suggested they cannibalize some of the older and more damaged structures to mend the walls and stable houses. 

 

Even behind patchwork walls, burnt siding and boarded windows lay as evidence of the attacks. 

 

It made Daryl sick. 

 

Paul parked the car just inside the gate and hopped out. Daryl followed, slower. He tried to avoid Alexandria whenever he could, but it was hard when he was half of the best team of runners in all the communities. 

 

He'd found that going with Paul actually made it easier. 

 

Rick met them at the gate, loping over on legs too long to not have graced Daryl’s unconscious dreams a time or two in the past. He brushed off the fleeting thought same as he brushed off Rick when he reached out in greeting. 

 

He heard Paul behind him extending the damn olive branch. Daryl knew Rick was looking after him with a face half pouting, half frowning, wondering why his right hand was more apt to slap him than applaud him anymore. 

 

He shouldn't have to wonder. 

 

Daryl stomped away when he heard Paul open the trunk of their car and the knives they were carrying banged about in the burlap bag they were wrapped in. They were trading weapons for food, so Daryl had no business with Rick anyway. 

 

He stormed to the supply closet - rows of shelves in a garage halfway into town. He passed both people waving hello and trying to stop to chat, and people who knew him better than that. Tara nodded to him and he wanted to stop with her but didn't know what to say. He continued to the pantry. 

Their runners must have found somewhere to stock up. The shelves weren't as empty as Daryl was used to. He had seen some desolate times, after the turn and before, and was always worried about the people that mattered to him. 

 

Even damn Rick. 

 

They had a two man team at the pantry, two women with their heads together talking, both packing wicked blades at their belts. Too many close calls had made the town wary. One woman looked up at the heavy fall Daryl’s feet and leapt to action. 

 

“Hi, hi, we have everything set aside for you. Come,” the quicker woman waved Daryl to a stack of three of the plastic totes Paul had found behind a gas station months ago. They had come in handy the last few months lugging goods between communities. She asked Daryl how the runs had been, about people in the other communities, even about the weather before she got the hint that Daryl wasn't playing call and response. He opened the cases as she moved storage boxes off of them. 

 

Each was heavy with fresh vegetables - carrots, potatoes, kale and to what Daryl knew would be Paul’s delight, apples - over a layer of cans. Daryl flipped through the cans. Some had the labels peeled off, some were code dated so long ago they read a date Daryl remembered from when he halfway knew and cared what the date was. 

 

But that was years in the past. None of the cans were fat with botulism and sell-by dates were a luxury the starving couldn't afford. 

 

The women were looking at him expectantly so he grunted affirmation, nudging the totes away from the wall with his toes. 

 

The quiet woman stepped up and pulled something from her shirt pocket. As she slipped it into Daryl's hand, he felt the placebo calm of a pack of cigarettes hit his frazzled nerves. “Somethin’ for you. Thank you,” she said. 

 

Daryl looked at the pack of short Marlboros for a moment before hiding them in his back pocket. “Whaddya want?” he asked, voice gruff to hide his gratitude. 

 

Nothing came for free anymore. Hell, never did. Now people were just more overt with their barters. 

 

The woman shook her head. “Nothin’ hon, just saw ‘em come in with a load and put ‘em aside for you. Didn't inventory ‘em so they're on the house.” She winked. It made her look twenty years younger. 

 

“Paul ‘n I are goin’ back out. What do you need?” he tried again. If he got an answer, the smokes couldn't be a calling for a later favor.

 

“Honey, we need everything,” the first woman answered honestly. 

 

Daryl picked at a hangnail. “Ain't nobody's ‘honey’,” he said absently. 

 

“Mmhmm,” the quiet woman with a pocket full of secrets hummed, unconvinced as she wheeled a dolly over and shoved the lip under the totes.

 

“Got it,” Daryl said as he squatted to pick up the totes. 

 

“Don't you dare,” Paul's musical voice rang behind him. “If you bench yourself with a hurt back, old man, who'll bitch about my driving?”

 

Daryl glanced at him through the side of his eye, cocked hips and eyebrows and attitude, and he stood with a sigh. He wheeled the loaded dolly around Paul and glared. Paul just laughed. He swung his arms out in a goofy pinwheel as he spun to follow. 

 

The hens started clucking again and laughing behind hands as they left and Daryl resisted the urge to flip them off. Barely. 

 

“Daryl!” 

 

He couldn't resist throwing the finger back at Rick when he called out; it was already loaded. Daryl heard his boot heels hit the asphalt as he rushed to join them. Paul glanced over at him, watching as Daryl ignored Rick as he jogged ahead and walked backward in front of them. 

 

Rick placed a hand on the top tote, struggling to stop Daryl. They played push and shove a moment before Daryl dropped the boxes. Rick jumped back to save his toes. He carefully balanced the plate he held in his hand and Daryl felt his stomach rumble looking at the sandwich on it. Being hungry was making him grumpy so he glared at Rick over the dolly. 

 

“Daryl, c'mon, just stop. We haven't talked in months.”

 

‘We’ like Daryl had anything to say to him. ‘We’ like it hadn't been Rick talking at the brick walls Daryl erected after he had taken Negan in as a prisoner. ‘We’ as if Daryl could live with the same justifications Rick had made in letting Saviors in Alexandria, in their lives, continue walking the earth. 

 

He crossed his arms over the dolly and waited for more words to hit his wall. 

 

Paul's voice came instead, breaking through as it always did. “It  _ has _ been months, Daryl. I know this is hurting you.” Daryl turned his glare on Paul. He didn't flinch. He never did. He raised a gentle gloved hand instead, soft and warm and brief on Daryl's arm. “Maybe it's time to talk.” He was leaning close, voice low. Rick lingered back to give them a moment. 

 

Daryl took a deep breath. 

 

Rick took it as his cue. “Daryl. We miss you.” Daryl pushed down on the dolly and started again toward Rick's feet. Paul slammed his hand on the boxes and Daryl dropped them in surprise. Rick placed his hand next to Paul's, dragging Daryl's attention back. “ _ I  _ miss you. Please, brother, talk with me.”

 

Daryl felt barbed wire wrap tight around his chest. “Don't start with that shit.”

 

The look of relief on Rick's face almost made Daryl feel guilty for keeping him at a distance for so long. 

 

Almost. 

 

“I know you're mad,” Rick made the understatement of the apocalypse. “I know why. I can't apologize.” He was digging his hole deeper and Daryl crossed his arms and looked away over Rick's shoulder to tell him so. 

 

Rick clapped his free hand on his shoulder. “I want you to know no matter where you are, you're my brother, my only one. I miss having you around, though, and would like you to consider coming back. Coming home, Daryl.” His voice was soft as he plead, trying to wear Daryl down. “We have a room for you.”

 

Daryl thought for a moment. “With you?”

 

Rick looked hopeful. Paul crossed his arms and played it cool. “Yes. With me and Michonne, Judith.”

 

Daryl grit his teeth until they hurt. “Carl's room,” he growled. 

 

Rick shank into himself. “It's - it's a room, it's your room, Daryl, if you come home.”

 

“Move,” Daryl spat, unable to hear more. The wire wrapping his chest was cutting off his air.

 

“Jesus,” Rick turned to Paul, who raised his hands and took a step back. “Daryl,” Rick tried again, face failing.

 

The walkie talkie on Rick's hip fuzzed to life. “Rick, we got a situation at the gate. Come in, Rick.” Daryl doesn't recognize the male voice but the look on Rick's face said he did. 

 

He signed, grabbing the walkie and nodding his head for the men to stay. He was still holding an untouched plate of lunch. “What's the problem?”

 

“A car,” came the response. “One of ours, but it's driving erratic. Might be … oh damn. It's that little girl again.”

 

“Enid,” Rick sighed. “Be right there.” He stood in the middle of the road dumbly holding a sandwich and a heartbroken face. 

 

Before he could speak again, Paul took the plate from him. “Where is this going?” 

 

“It's - I have to,” he broke off and his eyes flashed toward a small house on the edge of the street. A small house with a cage in the basement. 

 

“Of course,” Daryl snarled. 

 

“I'll take it. You handle your runaway car.”

 

“Thank you, Jesus.” Rick turned back to Daryl. “Please think about it. Please,” he asked before he turned and left. 

 

Paul smiled, a small, forlorn look out of place on his face. “Well, I'll be right back.”

 

“No you ain't.” Daryl pushed the totes across the street. “Goin’ with you.”

 

“You don't have to. I know how you feel.” He fell in line with Daryl. Daryl dropped his load and stomped down the cellar stairs to open the door for Paul. 

 

“Well, well, Rick,” came the voice from the cell, extending the ‘r’ to a long growl, “I thought you forgot about me.”

 

Daryl saw Negan’s eyes go wide when Paul entered with Daryl at his heels. “Now, you two are  _ not _ what I was expecting.”

 

Paul spoke while Daryl planted himself in the corner with crossed arms. “Believe me, this isn't how I saw today going, either.”

 

Negan was sitting on a cot against the wall, a book folded open on a stack of others on the floor next to him. He looked clean, fed, healthy. Daryl itched to solve that problem. 

 

“What brings you two assholes out to my neck, huh?” Negan slowly rose and stepped the two short steps to lean his shoulder against the bar. His grin was feral, all teeth and malice. 

 

“Just making a delivery,” Paul answered, raising the plate. 

 

“Damn, boy, that Sanctuary bread? You all brought me lunch on Sanctuary bread? Fuck, I guess y’all are alright.” His grin widened. “Suddenly a little glad ol’ Lucille never took a licking at you.”

 

If looks could kill, Daryl would be crowing over Negan's corpse right then. He tightened his hands to fists, nails digging painfully at his palms. 

 

Paul was the picture of calm as he looked over the plate in his hand. Alexandria must have had a good crop of apples somewhere - fresh applesauce and a cookie rounded out the meal. 

 

“You know, with a mouth like that,” Paul said softly, “It's only a matter of time someone takes a licking at you.”

 

“I'd like to see them fucking try.”

 

“Oh, you won't see it.” Paul picked up the cookie before sliding the plate in a slit in the bars. “It'll be quiet. Sly. Maybe a poisoned cookie,” he grinned as he bit into the treat. 

 

Negan sneered, “You fucking tiny dick, gimme back that cookie.”

 

Paul shrugged. “I could be saving your life right now.” He turned to Daryl, offering the cookie. Daryl started at him, eyes falling slowly from Paul's to the cookie, to Negan. He reached out and took it. Paul’s answering smile was sweeter than the dry cookie, better than any sugar on his tongue. He gave it back and Paul finished it. 

 

“Grade A assholes.” Negan threw himself down on the cot and made a face at the sandwich he was dissecting instead of eating. “It's been dry as a dog's balls in bitch season on the dessert front around here, I see some silver lining, and you take every damn crumb.” 

 

Silence fell as he moped and ate. Paul leaned against the wall next to Daryl and waited. He bumped their shoulders and asked Daryl if he was okay. He grinned at Daryl's affirmative grunt. 

 

The tightness in Daryl's chest didn’t feel like barbed wire then, but was no less constricting. He looked at his shoes. He felt Paul's eyes on him. 

 

“Can I get some water with this damn slop?”

 

Daryl turned to glare at Negan as Paul picked himself off the wall to pour a glass from the pitcher sitting across the room. Negan smiled, feigned innocence, and Daryl watched Paul instead. 

 

“Great,” Negan took the cup, “Now be a pal, Jesus, and turn this shit to wine, will you?” He laughed like he was the funniest damn guy in the cell. 

 

Paul turned from him, shaking his head. Daryl shook his head toward the door. 

 

“Ahahah,” Negan chastised. “Can't leave me with this here  _ fine china. _ Might break it. Might hurt myself. Might hurt someone else.”

 

Daryl stood straighter at the insinuated threat. Paul placed a hand on his arm, holding him back. “All he has now are words,” he said softly. Daryl blinked and felt the tension in his limbs release. Negan put him in a state of nervous fight or flight but by just being there, Paul helped him keep his head. 

 

“Aww, I know I asked for some damn entertainment, but this show is a little much. Fuckin’ Tweedleflame and Tweedledumb.” Daryl looked around Paul's shoulder at Negan, again leaning on the bars. “Get it? ‘Cause  _ you  _ don't talk,” he said to Daryl, and turning to Paul, “And _ you're _ carrying a big, fat, c-"

 

The words caught in his throat as Paul rushed across the room - Daryl hadn't even seen him move - and grabbed Negan by the shirt. He pressed a knife to the healed scar left when Rick ended the war.

 

The terror in Negan's eyes was delightful. 

 

“I'm tired of hearing you talk,” Paul said in an even voice. “Give me that plate, so we can be on our way.”

 

As Paul released him, Negan near scrambled to do so. Paul thanked him and waved Daryl out the door.

 

He was the picture of calm again as they went in the house to wash the dishes. Daryl watched Paul rinse the plate and couldn't find the words to thank him. He took the plate instead to set it out to dry, and tried not to shake apart when their fingers brushed. 


	3. Chapter 3

Just because Daryl was in a foul mood in Alexandria didn't mean Paul was. Paul said hello to people as they passed, he stopped to chat and was always adding to the list of sought after items in his pocket. Daryl was two steps behind him, glaring at people when they stopped too long.

 

“Socks. Check,” Paul said, twirling his pencil after writing it down. “Anything else you can think of?”

 

The Oceanside woman danced from foot to foot. “Um, if you find any … condoms?” she asked hopefully.

 

“Of course,” he said, jotting it down in tight, neat handwriting.

 

The woman looked over his shoulder at Daryl nervously. “I'm sorry, it's just -"

 

Paul waved her off. “You don't need to explain. I get you,” he said playfully. She exhaled and nodded as she turned to leave.

 

Daryl bumped into Paul's shoulder as he moved past. “Need to prioritize,” he mumbled as Paul caught up with him.

 

“Just because you're a hermit doesn't mean the rest of the world lives that way. Poor women lost all the men they knew and loved, you can't blame them for trying to find some human connection again.”

 

Daryl hummed, unconvinced. Paul slid his list into a pocket of his coat and twirled his hair up with the pencil. Half of it fell right back down. He blew a strand from where it clung to his beard and mused, “I can't imagine what they went through. To lose so many people at once. We've all suffered loss, but like that …” He signed. “Makes you glad for the people you have left, all the time you get with them.”

 

Daryl watched him from the side of his eye. Paul's eyes were far away but he shook himself back and elbowed Daryl's arm. “Which is why you need to stop this shit with Rick.”

 

“Damnit, that's none-a yours.”

 

Hands raised in defeat and eyes twinkling with argument, whichever way Paul's mouth was going was interrupted by Tara jogging up next to them.

 

“Shit, you're fast,” she breathed. “The hell’d you go?”

 

Paul slid his hands in his pockets. “Helped Rick feed the beast. What's up?”

 

“Ugh.” Daryl turned to her at her sound of disgust. Maybe if enough people rallied against Rick, they could exterminate the vermin in their midst. “Hey, I gotta favor for you. Or, from you. Please.”

 

Paul motioned for her to continue, smiling small as she inserted herself between them. Daryl scowled.

 

“So Gabriel needs to go to Hilltop and I was supposed to take him but I promised to help in the garden and we're building a windmill and I'm learning to fix the truck and someone said they found wild horses a half day away so I'm going to see them.”

 

Both men watched enthralled as she rattled off the list. Daryl was impressed with how little air she needed to blow so much so hotly.

 

“Sooo, basically,” Paul drawled, “You're, like, quintuply booked and you're looking to push the most boring task on us.”

 

“Yes, exactly!” She perked up. “Wait, no, not trying to be a dick, but you guys are going there anyway, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Daryl confirmed. “Eventually.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Paul chuckled. “I'm sure we're can rearrange our itinerary. It'll be nice to go home tonight, anyway. Right, Daryl?”

 

Since ‘home’ was the lumpy couch in Paul's trailer, Daryl didn't see much difference where they slept. The trailer, a commandeered house on a run, the bucket seats of the sedan. They spent so much time together, Daryl didn't think ‘home’ was a place anymore, but was somewhere between a set of clear blue eyes and a bright, wide smile.

 

Tara smacked his shoulder, breaking his reverie.

 

He forgot the question. “What he said,” he answered.

 

“Thanks,” she said, relieved. She raised her fist to Paul, bumping knuckles, then Daryl. Her smile was warm as they collided in camaraderie. “You're the best.”

 

They turned the corner, following Tara’s lead to the sad little church on the edge of town. It took a lot of damage in the attacks, both from the Saviors and the feral Wolves, but was not being torn down. Daryl could see a team of people out front mending the walls. Gabriel wasn't with them.

 

“Hey! Father!” Tara yelled, walking ahead.

 

Gabriel peeked around the doorjamb. He took a couple long nails out of the corner of his mouth, holding them with the clawed hammer in his hand. “Tara, please,” he said, sounding kindly exasperated.

 

“Found you a ride,” she ignored him and threw her thumb back at Paul and Daryl.

 

He smiled. As Daryl got closer, he saw that Gabriel looked healthier and more whole than he had in a long time. The man got depressed in times of complacency; he came to life after shit went to hell and he had something to fix.

 

Daryl tried to avoid him. He didn't need someone else trying to fix him.

 

He tried to ignore how similar they were, as well. Peace had always made his skin crawl, before and after the turn.

 

Gabriel's recent fever had left his eyes permanently sensitive and he squinted down the street. Daryl doubted he could see far enough anymore to discern who they were even without the afternoon sun shining behind them.

 

Paul knew and stepped closer, offering a hand as Gabriel sought the stair rail. The last two steps were mostly missing so Paul braced Gabriel's arms and helped him down. It looked effortless.

 

“Is your shadow here, too?” Gabriel asked Paul, turning to Daryl.

 

“Little do you know, he's _my_ shadow. I just can't seem to shake him,” Paul smiled. Daryl pulled up next to him and Paul beamed.

 

Daryl felt his smile crawl down his spine so he grunted, “When do we leave?”

 

“Oh, I'm ready. I'll just -"

 

“Judith!”

 

Daryl turned as a woman's frantic voice cut Gabriel off. Judith was waddling full speed at him, catching herself on his leg as she pitched forward with excitement. “Hey, Asskicker,” he said as he ran his hand through her hair. It was long and blonde and tangled from the wind. She turned her surprisingly toothy smile on him.

 

He was such a sucker for unrestrained smiles.

 

Hers appeared to be a ruse, though, as she used the distraction to kick at his boot with her tiny foot.

 

“Oh, is that the game?” he asked as she missed and kicked up dirt. She laughed, kicking dirt again.

 

Paul was suddenly in his ear. “You gonna take that? She's kicking your ass.”

 

“Fast learner.” He didn't realize he was grinning until he saw the stupid look on Paul's face.

 

He got serious again and moved his foot from the ongoing assault. He kicked up dirt at Judith and she giggled. He faked her left and caught her as she dodged, turning her upside down. She squealed loud and carefree as he dangled her, tangled blonde mop brushing the dirt.

 

His heart jumped to his throat with her laughter - it took a moment to trust the walls, to trust the people around him. To trust they were safe enough for a child's laugh.

 

Paul knelt in front of them and tickled Judith's belly as her shirt flopped around her neck. She squirmed in Daryl's hands.

 

“I swear,” the woman who was chasing the child said, hand on her hip. Daryl searched for her name. Something cute, flighty. Bertie. “She sees you and she just loses it,” she said.

 

“That sounds about right,” Paul said quietly from his knees, looking up with wide eyes. Daryl had to look away.

 

Paul raspberried Judith's belly and caught her shoulders as she shook with laughter. “Okay, darling, come here.” Daryl dropped her legs and Paul swooped her up. He sang the refrain from _Hey Jude_ softly and off key and she was quiet again. She smeared more dirt on her face pushing her hair back to watch him.

 

He finished the song, missing some words and adding some extra, unaware of his audience as he sang to the child. He danced her in a circle, feet much more graceful than his voice.

 

Daryl flinched as something hit his ribs and he turned to glare at Tara. She flicked her eyes to Paul and back to Daryl, eyebrows raised. He ignored her.

 

At his other side, Gabriel asked after Maggie. “How is she doing?”

 

Daryl shrugged. “Huge. Hungry. Tired, but she won't say it.”

 

Paul shook his head at him as he sauntered over with the child. “You are so uncouth.” To Gabriel, he answered, “She is very ready to have her baby.”

 

“Any day now.”

 

“It's that why you're coming?” He set Judith down, straightening her clothes before she ran away. Bertie caught her shoulder.

 

Gabriel nodded. He didn't give an explanation. Daryl thought of Carl, coming up haunted from the bowels of the prison with his baby sister in his arms and pain in his eyes. Gabriel didn't need to explain.

 

“Siddiq is already there but more hands and hearts never hurt,” Paul said as he closed their circle with crossed arms. He swung his shoulder into Daryl's, a gentle bump to knock him back into the present.

 

“I'm afraid I won't be much help but she did ask me to be there. Just …” Gabriel trailed off, eyes watering in the sun. Daryl noticed he was wearing his collar again. Nothing like facing death to show a person where their faith lies.

 

“I'll go get my bag,” he finished.

 

“I'll go with you,” Paul offered. He loosened his arms in case Gabriel needed to brace himself but didn't overtly offer. They walked side by side around the church and out of sight.

 

Tara stepped in front of Daryl. “So.” Daryl tried to glare but dropped his eyes. “How's things?” she asked. He shrugged. “Are we gonna talk about the big ass elephant between you two?”

 

“Nothin’ to say.”

 

“Uh huh.” She tapped her toes. She squinted back at Daryl as they heard Paul talking to Gabriel as they returned. Gabriel had a small bag slung over his shoulder and a bible in his hand. Paul had a small smile, wider when he met Daryl's eyes.

 

Gabriel hung back with Birdie and Judith. Tara looked between Daryl and Paul. “Well,” she said, a tad too loud, “I have to go see a man about a horse.”

 

Paul laughed.

 

Daryl looked at her crossly. “Know that means you gotta take a piss.”

 

“I think it means she's going to get a drink,” Gabriel piped up.

 

“Actually, it's an old English term to slyly leave a situation before it gets more awkward.” Everyone turned to Paul and he shrugged. “I have a bit of a thing for the written word.”

 

A ‘bit of a thing’ was an understatement. Paul had an entire wall lined with books in his trailer, starting to climb higher as they stacked up when they found more on runs. He usually had a paperback hidden in a pocket, something in the glove compartment of the car, a novel by his bed. Not that Daryl knew. Well, he did, since they lived in a single room trailer with separate space a suggestion rather than a fact.

 

They often had a rotation of people trading books, leaving new ones, an evolving library in their living space.

 

Bertie brushed get hand down Paul's arm. “So you like books?” she asked. Paul made a face, a polite ‘duh’ look that only he could pull off. “Could you find some? For the children? A group of us are teaching them, the older kids at Oceanside, the few young kids. Starting Judy off with an education.”

 

“So books?” Paul nodded.

 

“Yes.”

 

“We probably have some already at home. Daryl, you think?”

 

Daryl shrugged. “What do kids read?”

 

“Get ‘em bored enough kids’ll read anything,” Paul grinned.

 

“And we're starting to have some bored kids,” Bertie said.

 

Paul added books to his wish list with a flourish, hair falling across his face when he took the pencil out.

 

Tara cleared her throat. “Well, I was actually serious. Jerry told Aaron the Kingdomers found horses outside of town and are going to wrangle them. He and I are going to check it out. Help where we can. So, later taters.” She pointed to Daryl as she left. She wasn't going to let him slide.

 

Paul turned to him. “Hey, you mind waiting a few more minutes? I'm dying for a shower. And since I have to sit in the car with you? I don't ask much of you,” he winked.

 

Paul had a camper’s shower rigged behind a tarp outside the trailer and while the semi-private freezing water did the job, it had nothing on hot running water. And he knew Paul was getting desperate - he only tied his hair back when it was greasy.

 

“Ain’t goin’ to Rick's.” He couldn't stand the empty space in the house Carl used to fill. He couldn't stand Rick looking at him expectantly. He couldn't look Michonne in the eye and see Rick's pleas echoing in them.

 

“You can use mine.” Gabriel leaned against the church wall. “I can wait.”

 

Paul thanked him and ambled past Daryl, gloved hand brushing down his bare arm. “You go first, I'll get our clothes from the car.” Daryl signed quietly and followed Gabriel's pointing finger to the small house around back. “Make sure you wash behind your ears!” Paul called out. Daryl saluted him with his favorite finger as he disappeared inside.


	4. Chapter 4

The ride back to Hilltop was quiet. Daryl threw their bags in the trunk and silently called dibs by throwing himself sideways across the back seat. Paul slid into the driver's seat and waved to the gate guards. He pointed the car in the right direction and drove with his window half down. 

 

His hair whipped around the headrest and Daryl wanted to run his fingers through it. He leaned back against the window and picked at a patch of dry skin on his lip instead. He tried to watch out the back window but his eyes kept straying to Paul's profile. 

 

Evening fell as they reached Hilltop’s gates. Paul drove slowly as they were not due back for a couple more days and hauling ass would just set off emergency alarms. 

 

“Jesus!” Daryl heard Kal call down from his perch on the gate. “Is everything alright?”

 

“Honky dory! Maggie has a visitor! We're making a pit stop for the night.”

 

The gates opened and Paul drove in, parking on the side furthest from the stables. The cow still had a problem with cars and if she got antsy, she set off the horses and it took three people to settle them all. 

 

Gabriel moved around better at night, no lights blinding him, and happily took his bag from Daryl and started toward the mansion. Kal jumped down from his post, followed by Alden, former Savior worker who had shown himself to be trustworthy in Hilltop. 

 

“Hey, man, you guys alright?” Alden asked Daryl. He nodded and asked after Maggie. 

 

Before Alden could answer, he heard Maggie’s voice across the yard. She wrapped her arms around Gabriel before he pointed back at them and started slowly up the stairs and into Barrington House. 

 

Maggie hustled across the yard. Daryl had to admit he had been exaggerating when he called her ‘huge’. She was very pregnant, yes, but still very small. He couldn't lie and say he was confident the baby would be born healthy. 

 

He kept his fear to himself and accepted her hug, the press of her belly against his making her hug harder to get the contract she craved. “Hey, Mags,” he said quietly.

 

“Jesus, get in on this,” she called. Daryl tried to push away but she held fast. Paul leaned into her, arm wrapping around her back as he said a warm hello. His hand burned where it was resting on the small of Daryl's back. He held them all together a moment too long. 

 

Daryl stepped back as soon as Paul released him and fiddled with their bags. Since they were home, they may as well change out for clean clothes. 

 

Daryl could see Paul was stepping into his ‘Jesus’ role to walk the town, selflessly listen to everyone who needed an ear, ease the worries he could, and promise he would do his best to full their needs. Daryl had no place in his diplomacy. He balanced his weight from foot to foot and asked, “Anythin’ I can do?”

 

Paul smiled at him. “Want to scope out the library for books for the kids?” Daryl shrugged. How hard could it be to pick out children's books from Paul's collection? “Thanks. I'll be up soon with things to round out dinner. Man cannot live on rabbit alone.”

 

“Man can.”

 

Paul laughed. “Man needs vegetables. I'll be up soon.”

 

Daryl shrugged again and took the bags and dead hare to the trailer. He looked for somewhere to set the rabbit and placed a cutting board on the counter. Paul had teased him mercilessly last time he had left prey on the kitchen table - called him a cat bringing home presents. Said he really brought home the bacon, and the animal it was attached to. 

 

Daryl had retorted that there was no bacon to cut from squirrel and Paul had laughed for ten minutes. 

He threw the bags on Paul's neatly made bed and folded slowly onto the floor in front of the books. He wasn't as young and limber as he used to be. 

 

He had a small pile of books set aside for inspection when the door opened. He heard the footsteps and knew it was Paul and not a stray bibliophile looking for a novel trade. 

 

Paul's feet planted next to him as he opened a thin book with a bright cover, ambiguously titled so he didn't know what it was. 

 

“Okay I know I said kids will read damn near anything,” Paul said above him playfully, “But that book is literally just porn. Even I'm gonna have to ixnay that one for younger readers.”

 

A quick flip through the book confirmed Paul's claim. 

 

“The hell, Paul? People come in and borrow your shit all the time, just leave this anywhere.”

 

He looked up and Paul shrugged. “Was my personal collection before the whole neighborhood started inviting themselves in. I'm not the one to censor or ban books.”

 

Daryl put the book back and Paul knelt to grab a couple more from the wall. They had a good starter stack for Bertie.

 

“So what's for dinner?” Daryl asked as he picked himself off the floor. 

 

Paul rose quick and easy. “They had roots and tubers in the garden today, so, stew?” 

 

“No fuckin’ celery?”

 

Paul remembered from last time. “No fucking celery,” he confirmed, holding carrots, onions and potatoes.

 

Daryl shrugged and set to work on the meat while Paul prepared the veggies. They cooked over a fire outside, watching the village move around them. The vegetables were still slightly hard but the meat tender as they ate by starlight. 

 

“Think I'll stay in Barrington tonight,” Daryl said, eyes in his bowl. 

 

“Baby watch?” Daryl nodded. “Okay. I'll just be here.” Paul took Daryl's bowl. “There's still some stew, why don't you take it up there?” He turned back to the trailer and was back with a cleaned bowl and spoon as Daryl was still stretching out the kink in his back.

 

He looked over to the mansion and saw most of the lights were still on. “Not goin’ yet.”

 

Paul followed his eyes and knew Daryl's aversion to too many people and small talk, both of which abound in Barrington. “Okay.” 

 

“Think I'll take a walk.”

 

“Want company?”

 

Yes. “Naw.”

 

“Okay. Just grab this before you go and I'll see you in the morning, yes?” Paul raised the bowl and an eyebrow. Daryl nodded. He shoved his hands in his pockets and wished he had any people skills. He couldn't find what he wanted to say to Paul but couldn't bear to leave yet. 

 

Paul, hands full, grinned and nudged Daryl's boot with his own. He hadn't said anything, but the urge holding Daryl back was sated and he nodded and left. 

 

He clung to the walls and shadows, avoiding people and stopping at the stables and stalls to check on the animals. They were quiet, as they usually were in the night. Meant the dead weren't around. Made the cool night air easier to breathe. 

 

He lapped the compound three times before the antsy feeling came back to his gut. He turned back to the trailer, content to sit silently with Paul until a later hour. 

 

He wasn't in the trailer, though, when he got there. The bathroom door was open, the bags still on the bed. Paul's leather coat was laying on top of them but nothing else was out of place. 

 

Daryl walked around the building and was ready to give up when he saw a smear of mud on the windowsill. He touched it - fresh. He looked up and remembered meeting Paul as he silently climbed the truck he and Rick were driving to pull a sneak attack on them. 

 

He grinned, bitter, as he thought of how that had turned out for everyone. 

 

The only good that has come out of that was meeting Paul himself. 

 

And well, the communities were good, too. But Daryl's concern was the man presumably on the roof.

 

Daryl certainly wasn't going to scale the wall so he swung by the blacksmith’s and borrowed a ladder. He climbed up and wondered when Paul got so predictable. 

 

He was laying on his back wrapped in a quilt, eyes on the sky. His hand was resting against his forehead, the familiar glow of a cigarette cherry between his fingers. 

 

Daryl pushed himself up and walked carefully across the roof to him. His hair was spread out around him, limbs splayed under the blanket. His eyes were closed and he didn't react as Daryl loomed over him. 

 

Bittersweet smoke hit Daryl's nose and clung to the back of his throat and he wondered where Paul had found weed. He nudged him with his boot. 

 

Big sleepy eyes blinked open and he smiled, slow and sweet. “Hey.” He took an earbud out. No wonder he didn't hear Daryl come up on him. 

 

Daryl wanted to know why the hell he was on the roof. “What are you listening to?” he asked instead. Paul offered the headphone and Daryl sat next to him. He had given him the bud from his closest ear, though, and Daryl had to lay close next to him to slip it in. 

 

A man's condescendingly calm voice was repeating a mantra about not needing cigarettes. The urge to smoke was mental, controllable, and that by refocusing one's energy, the power was taken back into one's self from the cigarette. 

 

Paul took a long drag and breathed an impressively big cloud of smoke over them after holding it until his lungs burned. 

 

Daryl watched his lips. “Don't think this is working.”

 

Paul laughed, soft in the quiet night. “I tried. Been meaning to quit since I was sixteen. The narration is so dry though, I thought it would go down easier if I was high.”

 

“No point, then.”

 

Paul hummed and offered the joint.

 

Daryl waved it away. “Don't do that shit.” He tilted his hips toward Paul to get the pack of smokes from his back pocket. Paul produced a lighter, joint held between his teeth. The meager light danced in his eyes. 

 

He watched their smoke mingle over them, swirling in the breeze. The stars were so bright beyond it. The tape droned on in their ears.

 

Paul shook a foot free from the quilt and stubbed his butt out on the sole of his boot. Daryl followed suit and tucked his arms behind his head. 

 

The sky was thick with stars. One thing could be said for the apocalypse: the dead rising had done wonders for air pollution levels. The sky had never been that bright in his life, even over the wilds of Georgia. 

 

Paul plucked the words right from his head. “It's so beautiful at night.”

 

Daryl hummed agreeance. “You come here often?” he asked. 

 

Paul turned to him and smiled. “Sometimes. When I need to breathe. How'd you find me?”

 

“You got mud on the window sill. Never heard of a ladder?”

 

“Defeats the purpose of being sneaky.”

 

Daryl was silent. Paul turned onto his side, eyes closing as he slid a hand under his face. He looked so young. 

 

Daryl picked at a hangnail with his teeth and asked, “Did you want to be alone?”

 

Blue eyes blinked open. “I'd rather be alone with you.” Daryl’s stomach flopped. He turned back to the sky. Paul didn't. 

 

“Where'd you find weed?” Daryl asked, trying to break the thick atmosphere. 

 

“Shhh.” Paul's smoky breath hit him and he shivered. “I'm growing it outside the gates.” Daryl turned to him, surprised. “A trade I picked up to pay for college.”

 

“You're kidding.”

 

“Nope. Textbooks are expensive, even at community college. So a friend of mine got me in trimming with her one summer and I worked my way through to cultivation. It was that or stripping,” he winked. 

 

Please don't think of naked Paul. Don't do it. Jesus, get a damn grip. Daryl looked away.

 

“Do you want some? It's not a great strain, but it's okay. I don't smoke much anymore, my supply is starting to outweigh demand.”

 

“Naw. Don't do no drugs.” He couldn't hide the finality in his tone. 

 

“That's smart,” Paul sighed. “You know, I actually heard once, all this? The dead, the change? Started with a bad batch of meth.”

 

“No way. That shit kills you, ya stay dead.”

 

Paul leaned up on his elbow. “You sound sure of that.”

 

“Dead fuckin’ serious.” Paul was obviously waiting for more so Daryl removed the earbud and signed. “When I was a kid, I used to walk a kid home from school. Gorgeous girl, all curls and curves in sixth grade. Felt so damn proud, bein’ the one ta scare off creeps. It was ‘cause her da’, my brother's friend, he was using with Merle while we was at school. Merle wasn't so bad, he'd go on a bender, sober up a few weeks, do it ‘gain, but this guy was serious.” He toyed with the edge of the quilt between then, unable to meet Paul's eyes. His voice cracked, “He died. One Christmas eve, while Merle was tryin’ ta be clean. Died alone using in his storage closet. Donno what happened to his girl.” He shook his head and didn't look over. “Ain’t ever get up and walk again.”

 

Paul touched his hand, warm skin to skin without the gloves he wore near the dead. Daryl pulled back. Paul was unbothered. “I'm so sorry,” he said. Daryl swiped the back of his hand over his eyes, prepared to blame it on the smoke, but Paul never called him out on a moment of weakness. He quietly let him have it. 

 

“Does it bother you?” Paul asked, rolling into his stomach and laying on his folded arms, the upside down yin to Daryl's yang.

 

“What?”

 

“That I smoke sometimes?” 

 

“Naw. Your business. It's just my shit, not anyone else's.”

 

“Okay.” He shut his eyes and Daryl allowed himself the moment to look at him. A strand of hair fell across his cheek and Daryl wanted to brush it away. He left it.

 

He could smell Paul, a fresh and clean soapy smell. Daryl wanted to crawl over him and see if it emanated from his skin or hair, if he could find his familiar smell on his neck or under his arms or at the hinge of his hips. He wanted to see if he tasted like he smelled. “Should go now,” he mumbled. 

 

Paul's eyes stayed closed as he curled closer, leg creeping out from the blanket to run against Daryl's. “You don't have to. You could stay with me.” He blinked, big eyes wide. 

 

He was close enough Daryl wouldn't have to stretch to kiss him. He pushed himself up before he did something stupid. He was halfway to the stairs when Paul called behind him, “Good night, Daryl.”

 

He paused, hand on the ladder and turned around. Paul was watching him with a crooked smile. “Good night, Paul,” he said before climbing down. 


	5. Chapter 5

Maggie was fine when he got to the mansion. Siddiq said she had had no signs of going into labor so she ate the stew Daryl brought and rolled her eyes at him as he couldn't sit still. 

 

“What is with you? Your pacing is keeping the baby up,” she teased, hand over her belly. “Go away, work off some energy.”

 

“Naw.” He looked out the window. The light was still on in Paul's trailer. “What if the baby comes?”

 

“Daryl, I probably have another week. I'll be fine if you go run laps, chase the chickens, chop wood, I don't care. Just do it somewhere out of my room.” She signed. “I love you, but go the hell away.”

 

“Maggie -"

 

She pointed to the door. “Go! And thank you for the stew. You and Jesus,” she grinned, handing him back the bowl and pulling him into a half hug. 

 

He shut the door behind him and tried to clear his head. 

 

What was with him was Paul seemed set to drive him crazy. He would smile sweetly, unaware it made Daryl's heart skip. He would be genuinely nice one minute, then teasing him the next. 

 

The thought of being out on a run for the next week, alone with Paul and every emotion he stoked in Daryl, without knowing if he was genuine or being an ass … it was all he could think about. 

 

It was going to be a problem outside the gates if they were facing a walker attack and all Daryl could think about was if Paul wanted him on his knees or not. 

 

It was just late enough and Daryl was feeling just dumb enough to ask. 

 

Daryl paused at the top of the trailer's stairs, hand poised to pound on the door. He shuffled his feet and repositioned to knock. To try to be polite. 

 

Fuck that, he'd kick the damn door. He didn't have patience for niceties. 

 

With a sigh, he knocked, softer than he intended, knuckles scraping down the door. This wasn't a good idea. Why did he always fuck things up? 

 

He thought about turning tail and running, a coward’s game of doorbell ditch, but shoved his hands in his pockets and waited. 

 

He felt so fucking stupid. 

 

He heard soft movements in the trailer and his heart raced. His throat tightened in a knot as the door opened. 

 

Paul poked his head around the door, a smile warming his face when he saw Daryl. He opened the door wider, soft lantern light spilling out around him. 

 

His hair shone like a halo around his head in the warm light. Daryl felt dizzy. 

 

“Daryl! What a wonderful surprise.” He cocked his hip against the door and brushed his loose hair behind his ear. His eyes glittered playfully as he asked softly, “What can I do you for?”

 

And that's the exact shit Daryl couldn't take anymore. His hips, his eyes, his hair and voice and flirtations. Paul was driving him insane. His stomach flopped but he steeled himself. “Are you messin’ with me?”

 

“What?” The coy smile didn't fall from Paul's lips, curved in a shape Daryl yearned to taste. 

 

Daryl bristled, trying not to shiver in the cool evening air. “Are you  _ fuckin _ ’ with me?”

 

Paul looked a little taken back finally. “How? What do you mean?”

 

Daryl fought the urge to toe the step he was standing on, aw shucks, don't make me say it. He grit his teeth until his molars hurt instead, growling, “You're always so … damn … I dunno. You're messin’ with me. You're too …”

 

Paul tilted his head in thought. An action he had adopted from Rick, another twist in Daryl's gut. “Ooh.” Daryl saw the light bulb of realization shine in Paul's mind. “No, Daryl, I'm not - well. I guess I kind of am.” His smile grew as he looked down at their feet on either side of the doorway. He looked up at Daryl through his eyelashes. “You're just so fun to tease. You _ rise  _ to it.” He pouted and Daryl wanted to bite the look right off him. “I'm sorry.”

 

“No.” Daryl dug his hands deeper in his pockets. “You're an asshole.”

 

A half assed shrug was Paul's only reply. 

 

Daryl felt more upset than before he had stupidly started the conversation. He couldn't stop his plea, “Why?”

 

The grin melted from Paul's lips. He sucked on them in thought, disappearing behind his beard. “I’m just pulling your pigtails, Daryl. I really didn't mean to be an asshole. Not for real.”

 

“You're just playin’ me?”

 

He shrugged again. “I'm just poking you to get your attention.”

 

“Stop.”

 

There was a long pause between them before Paul signed. “Okay.”

 

No. No, that's not what Daryl wanted. Impulsively he grabbed Paul by the front of his thermal shirt. Paul's eyes grew wide. Not frightened, but hyper alert. Daryl had hardly ever seen fear in those eyes.

 

He stepped forward, toes under the lip of the doorway. He leaned close; Paul's eyes grew wider. His lips parted and Daryl’s eyes fell to them. He was a hair shorter than Paul in the doorway and he leaned up. He watched Paul's lips pull into a smile, unable to stop his own from quivering. 

 

Paul hummed and slowly took Daryl's face in his hand, tilting his head up until they met eyes, and pressed their lips together in the softest of kisses. 

 

Daryl almost let shock take over but rolled up on the balls of his feet to kiss him harder. He felt Paul's pleased moan vibrate against his lips. He took a step up intro the trailer, pushing Paul back. Paul kept his face in a firm grip, holding him still as he tilted his own head, lips insistently sliding against his own. 

 

Daryl felt his knees weaken as Paul's beard ticked his cheek, kisses sliding to the corner of his lips. He braced a hand on the door, the other hovering over Paul's waist. 

 

Paul's breath was sweet as he sighed. He slid his hands around Daryl's neck. Gently pulling his hair, he tilted Daryl's head back. Daryl moaned as he kissed behind his ear, breath tickling his temple. Paul answered his moan with one of his own, pulling his body tight against Daryl's. He was a long line of heat and need, and god how Daryl needed him.

 

Paul rolled his hips and Daryl slammed the door shut, spinning and pinning Paul to the wall next to it. 

 

“God yes,” Paul breathed. His hands slipped from Daryl's hair as his wrists were trapped under Daryl's hands. 

 

Daryl nosed along his cheek and kissed him, hard and long. He stepped back so they only touched where his hands and lips were glued to Paul. 

 

Paul teased his bottom lip between his teeth and slid his tongue along Daryl's as he sighed. He tried to wiggle forward but Daryl used his height to keep distance between them. 

 

“Please,” Paul whispered brokenly between them. “Daryl, touch me.”

 

It was a punch to the gut and Daryl couldn't say no. He slid a leg between Paul's, hiding his gasp behind a desperate press of lips to lips as Paul's cock slid against his hip. Paul threw his head back and rolled his hips. His eyes were boring into Daryl's, bright blue bubbling with lust. 

 

Daryl rocked his leg up, standing on his toes to throw his hip against Paul. He was careful to avoid touching him with his own erection, sensitive enough from the smell and taste and feel of Paul against him. The seam of his jeans was a rough point of friction, enough to remind him to take care of himself. He couldn't expect Paul to, not when he was losing himself, writhing between Daryl and the wall. 

 

Paul struggled against Daryl's hands. “Please, let me -" He got one free and slipped his hand down Daryl's chest. The sound that tripped from his lips set Daryl's blood on fire. He caught Paul's hand as he slipped the button of his jeans open. 

 

“Too much? Too much. Sorry. Fuck, I'm not sorry. Daryl, please,” Paul rambled. He bit his lip and looked up through his eyelashes. “Please.” He begged so pretty and Daryl couldn't say no. 

 

“Don’ touch me,” his voice rumbled from his chest as he pushed Paul's hair from his face. Paul's eyes fluttered shut as Daryl swept his thumb over his cheek and traced the edge of his beard. He ran his thumb over Paul's thick bottom lip, stomach tying in knots when Paul wrapped his tongue around it, pulling it into his mouth and sucking. 

 

“Jesus fuck,” Daryl swore, thrusting hard against Paul. 

 

Paul winked and released his thumb with a wet pop. “Please do.”

 

Daryl rested his head on Paul's shoulder and unzipped his pants, wet thumb slipping on the tab. He struggled with the button as Paul wiggled. He let go of Paul's wrist and held his hip still against the wall. The wavering exhale Paul huffed through his hair rushed Daryl along; he tugged Paul's pants down, cursing their hip hugging cut. 

 

Paul's dick was hard and hot through his underwear and Daryl felt his own jerk as he stroked the length through thin cotton. It had been years since he had had a body against his own and he knew he wouldn't last long. 

 

He felt how wet Paul's underwear was at the head of his cock and he was surprised he didn't come right then. He tore at his underwear and moaned as he wrapped his hand around bare flesh. 

 

“Can I? Can I please?” Paul tugged at his hair. Daryl looked up and Paul begged, “Can I kiss you?”

 

Daryl let him tangle his hands in his hair as they kissed hard. His knee was pressed up behind Paul's balls, his cock in one hand, his hips bruising under the tight grip of his other. Paul moved in tiny little thrusts into Daryl's hand, tiny little moans caught between their lips.

 

Daryl rolled his hips, cock rock hard in his jeans, balls pulled tight and body humming with imminent release. He let go of Paul's hips to open his own fly, breath knocked from his lungs as Paul used the freedom to fuck hard into his fist. 

 

His lips stopped kissing and lay panting against Daryl's, sweet marijuana breath cloying and thick between them. Daryl rolled his palm over the head of his cock, smearing precome over his length. Paul bent and bit the shirt over his shoulder, a loud moan the only warning before Daryl caught a warm pulse of come over his wrist and palm in an upstroke.

 

Paul was moaning and kneading his chest like a kitten and Daryl barely had the mind to cup his own cock as he came, wanting to avoid laundry. 

 

He rested his forehead against Paul's and they came down with stolen kisses and heavy eyes. 

 

Paul's hands started straying from Daryl's hair to his shoulders, curling over his back and Daryl pushed off the wall with his clean hand. Paul chased him with eager kisses until Daryl stepped back and left him against the wall. 

 

He was so beautiful, flushed and disheveled, knees weak and arms heavy. 

 

Daryl tucked his cock back in his jeans, hand shaking. He felt come cooling on his other hand and reality hit. “Have to go,” he muttered. 

 

“Daryl,” Paul started, but Daryl turned away. He shut the bathroom door,  the only door in the trailer, and washed his hands. Twice. 

 

Fuck. 

 

He looked up at his reflection over the sink. He looked just as wrecked as Paul. 

 

He felt raw, vulnerable in a way he had never felt, and so very scared. He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes pronounced, especially the right, over the eye socket shattered in a fight and rebuilt with metal when he was young and dumb. 

 

Nothing had changed. An old dumb man stared back at him from the mirror, old and dumb and still stupid enough to lose his shit for a beautiful boy with a beautiful smile.

 

He slammed the door open and flinched. Paul looked at him calmly, redressed and still fucking gorgeous. Daryl had to leave. 

 

He beelined for the door but Paul caught his arm. “Daryl,” he said, holding him tight. Daryl braced for the worst but Paul smiled. “I'll see you in the morning?” Daryl grunted and Paul stood on his toes and kissed the corner of his lips. He whispered, “Good night, Daryl.”

 

Daryl didn't run away, but it was a close thing. 


	6. Chapter 6

Daryl watched morning come with dread heavy in his stomach. He couldn't sleep so he sat by a window in Barrington and waited for the world to wake. 

 

He opened the window and heard the chickens, a horse's bray, Earl starting to bang around the blacksmith shop to get work done before the afternoon heat. 

 

Shit. He never returned his ladder. 

 

Daryl had hoped to meet Paul at the gate, avoid the trailer, but he couldn't. Damnit. 

 

With a sigh, he pushed himself from the window and back into his boots. He left them untied as he shuffled down the stairs, running into Maggie in the kitchen when he threw his foot on a chair to tie the laces up his leg. 

 

“Morning, Daryl. Look, still pregnant,” she pointed to her belly.

 

Daryl looked at her, barefoot eating a peach, hair sticking up on one side from the pillow, and couldn't help as he laughed softly. 

 

She walked by and ruffled his hair. “That's a good look on you.”

 

He brushed her off. “What?” 

 

“Happy.” She kissed his temple and left the room before he could push her away again. Daryl started on his second shoe when she said, ”Catch!” and he barely turned in time for the peach she threw underhand to land in his hands. She was gone with a wink. 

 

Happy. Ha. Happy was the last thing Daryl would call himself on a good day. He felt like a beehive - nervous, humming, the potential for danger one instigation away. The classic Dixon special. 

 

He held the peach at his side and walked slowly across the yard. People had started to move about in their morning chores. He sped up, not wanting to get caught in another conversation trap. May as well get the shit over with. ‘Hey, Daryl, last night was cool and all,  _ but _ …’

 

There was always a  _ but _ .

 

The front door of Paul's trailer was open so he snuck around the back of the neighboring unit and grabbed the ladder. He was trying to balance it and the ripe peach when he heard tapping on the window next to his head. 

 

Paul was trying to open the window, a goofy smile on his face. Daryl froze. Paul finally wrenched the window open and signed. “Damn, that was too hard. Good morning, Sneaking Beauty,” he said, leaning on his elbow through the window. 

 

Daryl grunted, “Ya bent the track climbing. I can fix it.”

 

“You know what you can do first?” He crooked his finger and leaned outside. “Come here.” Daryl shuffled sideways with one hand still on the ladder. Paul put his fingers under his chin and gently tilted his head up, leaning further out to kiss him. Daryl clenched his hands in surprise, forgetting the fruit he was holding. He dropped the ladder and set the peach on the windowsill, surging up on his toes to grab Paul behind his ear and hold him. 

 

He'd hold him until the  _ but _ fell from his lips. 

 

Paul's hand was warm on his chin and his lips soft and wet. He moaned against Daryl's lips and pulled back. “I could do this forever. But,” oh god not already please Paul don't “We should really get going,” he smiled. Daryl blinked up at him, incomprehensive. “I’ll grab your bag. You ready?”

 

The world seemed to be moving slow. Paul's grin turned crooked, molasses slow. Daryl's heart, once racing, was stuck between beats. “Yeah. Yeah, let's go.”

 

And life resumed normal speed. Paul jammed the window closed, Daryl grabbed the ladder, and threw the peach to Paul as he walked around to meet him. They walked along the back of the trailers, a shortcut to the blacksmith's. 

 

“Oo, breakfast. Thanks.” Paul whipped a knife from his belt and started slicing it around the pit. He ate a piece sticking to the blade and saw Daryl side eyeing him like he was crazy. “There's very little worse than a sticky beard.” He grinned and snagged the scraggly hairs on Daryl's chin, pulling him close. “Nothing  _ you _ have to worry about,” he mumbled across his chin before kissing him, peach sweetness and baking soda toothpaste flavoring his tongue running along Daryl's lips. 

 

He almost dropped the ladder again. 

 

Paul laughed and walked ahead of him. 

 

Daryl tried to breathe but he felt punch-drunk and high as he licked his lips to chase Paul's taste. 

 

Earl heard Daryl lean the ladder back against his stall and poked his head out. “ _ There _ it is. Ask next time, boy.”

 

Daryl bristled. “It was late. Wasn't gonna bang down doors ta find ya when I was gonna bring it on back.”

 

“Coulda’ left a note, I spent all morning thinking I had to make a new one.” He was pounding a blade out on an anvil, red hot and angry looking. 

 

Paul leaned in and said, “I'm sorry, Earl, we had to borrow it and it was late. Sorry it took a moment to bring back.”

 

Earl sighed and deflated. “That's ‘k, Jesus. Thanks for bringing it back. You both,” he added, sending a look of apology to Daryl. 

 

“No, thank you. From us and Alexandria, your blades are already a big help there and Rick wanted to let you know …” Daryl zoned out at Paul's diplomatic tones. That was his skill, not Daryl's. 

 

He noticed Paul add something to his wish list for Earl and stood next to him as he wrapped up their talk. Paul's hand landed on the small of his back and though Daryl knew he couldn't know of the scars that hid under vest and shirt and false bravado, he flinched away. Paul let him and they walked at arm's length to the gate. 

 

“Sorry,” Paul said quietly. “I didn't mean to get presumptive.”

 

Daryl shook his head. “No, you ain't. It's just … my shit.”

 

Paul smiled. “You know I'd like to know your shit, yeah? I want to know you.”

 

“You don't.”

 

“I do.” He bumped his shoulder against Daryl's. “You lay your shit out, I lay mine.”

 

“You ain't got shit like me.” Daryl's voice was small, almost scared to leave his mouth. 

 

“I take that bet. And I raise you.” He turned to walk backward, eyes serious. “We'll start slow. Nothing overwhelming, you can tap out of you have to. But.” He grabbed Daryl's arm. “I really do want to know you. All of you.”

 

Daryl shrugged, not quite throwing his arm off but sending his message. 

 

“Fine, I can play with hard to get for a while. But I warn you, I will wear you down, Dixon.” Daryl followed his grin to the car. “You want to drive?”

 

“Naw.”

 

“Okay then. Driver picks the music,” he teased as he opened Daryl's door. 

 

“Damnit, changed m’mind.” He swiped at the keys but Paul pulled them back. 

 

“Uhuh, you had your chance. Now, sit back and enjoy the luxury of an economy class, gas conscious early nineties domestic car.”

 

“Shoulda stayed home,” he muttered as Paul started the car. He leaned the seat back and put his feet on the dash. Paul patted his leg and left his hand there as they drove through the gate and into the wilds of Virginia. 


	7. Chapter 7

Daryl jerked awake when he felt hands tangle in his shirt - walkers, they were under attack, the dead the dead, where was Paul where was his knife

 

Before he cleared his eyes of sleep gunk, a warm hand, not cold, not rotting, clapped over his where he slapped at his belt for his blade. Hot breath, peaches and toothpaste, on his temple as his body was held down in the car seat. 

 

“Shh, god I'm sorry, Daryl, it's just me, Daryl please.”

Paul. 

 

“God, I'm going to  _ kill _ you, little shit!” he growled, throwing Paul off. “What the fuck!”

 

Paul fell back on his knees on his own seat, hands raised in surrender. “I'm  _ sorry, _ ” he stressed. “What's wrong with you?”

 

Daryl felt himself shut down, he couldn't stop the cold monotone of his answer, “You're a prick.” He turned to the windshield and looked straight ahead. 

 

“I -" Paul stopped and took a deep breath, trying for calm. “I didn't mean that. What's … were you dreaming? Was it bad?”

 

“Ain't ever had a dream not bad.”

 

Paul was quiet as his words dug deep into his heart. “That's really sad.”

 

The adrenalin racing through his chest was settling and Daryl just felt exhausted again. “Usually don't dream.”

 

“I'm sure you do, it's how you process the day. But if you don't remember, maybe your brain is just saving you from too much shit running loose up there.”

 

The likelihood of that was too much and Daryl turned to face out the side window. He didn't recognize where they were. 

 

Paul touched his arm, feather light. “I am sorry.”

 

“Mm. Shouldn’ta yelled at ya,” was as close as an apology he could get out. “Hell were you tryin’ ta do?” Paul was quiet so he glanced over his shoulder. 

 

He was smiling, a definite step up from the frown he had when Daryl snapped at him. “I was going to kiss you awake, Sleeping Beauty.”

 

Daryl stared at him with wide eyes. “Don’ call me that.”

 

“Then what should I call you?”

 

“My name.”

 

Paul sighed and leaned over. “Whatever, Daryl,” he muttered against his lips before closing the gap with a kiss. “You big grump.”

 

Daryl couldn't help but lean into his lips. Paul's hand braced on his thigh for balance. The touch sent a shiver down Daryl's spine, the fact that Paul wanted to touch him, wanted to kiss him, it was exhilarating. He tentatively ran his fingers through Paul's long hair, slightly tangled from whipping in the open window breeze. 

 

Paul leaned into his hand with a sigh. He looked so perfect in that moment Daryl wondered if he had a piece of heaven sitting in the front seat of their sedan. It was overwhelming. “Where are we?” he asked to break the tension. 

 

Paul grinned. “I have an idea. It's a crazy idea, and I haven't told Maggie or anyone else. But if it pans out, I think we could get a bed for everyone. In all the communities.”

 

Daryl raised a sceptical eyebrow. He knew they had a problem with beds, people were double and triple upped in Alexandria, sleeping on couches, and that week he had seen three people in Barrington under a blanket in the hallway definitely  _ not _ sleeping. 

 

“Crazy stupid or crazy what the hell?”

 

“Crazy probably a bit of both.”

 

Daryl was quiet a moment before he agreed. “Okay.” Between farming and hunting and redistribution from the Sanctuary, their supplies were better than they had been in a long time. They could probably afford some crazy. 

 

“Okay, yeah? Great!” He hopped out of the car, to Daryl's great surprise. 

 

“The hell are you going?” he followed. Paul just grinned and moved into the trees off the side of the road. He extravagantly motioned to a large delivery truck in the trees, Vanna White in a trench coat. Daryl had a sudden memory of sitting on his old broken couch with Merle, day drunk watching game shows on their fuzzy TV. It was so visceral it brought a tear to his eye. He swiped it away quickly. 

Paul crossed his arms, leather squeaking, and stood looking at the truck next to Daryl. “You know, I thought nothing could be worse than siphoning gas. Diesel is worse, far worse. And this bastard needed a whole lot.” His face scrunched in distaste. He held out the keys. “Wanna drive?”

 

Daryl's nap had only served to make him more tired so he passed. “Naw. Didn't sleep last night.”

 

“Really? Man, I slept _ great. _ ” He leaned into Daryl's arm and kissed his cheek. “Sex knocks me right out,” he said softly. “Think you'd sleep better if I got you off?”

 

Daryl signed as Paul kissed behind his ear, hand trailing down his chest. He caught Paul's fingers between his own and turned to kiss his lips. He wanted to kiss him everywhere, undress him and touch every inch of him, but they needed space to do that, time they didn't have out in the open. “Get where we're going. We'll see then.”

 

Paul smiled open mouthed against him. “Yes, we will.” Daryl had to push him back as he continued kissing him with growing intensity. Paul pouted and turned to the truck. He jumped up the steps to the driver's seat, agile and light, motioning for Daryl to follow.

 

The truck drove like a beast. It automatically shifted gears at revolutions so low it jerked back and forth, throwing them enough Daryl opted for the seat belt. He didn't think he could sleep all herky jerky but he conked out and proved himself wrong quickly. 


	8. Chapter 8

“Tell me you're kidding.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Your big plan was to hit a casino?”

 

Paul smiled and pointed to the stories high hotel behind the main gaming building. “Hell yeah. I bet there's beds a-plenty in there.”

 

“Bet there's walkers in there. And no lights, no windows, no nothing but dangerous stupidity.”

 

“Only on the gaming floor. Anyway,” Paul pressed his lips to Daryl's bare shoulder. “You can't say I'm the only one feeling dangerous and stupid.”

 

Daryl didn't justify his teasing with an answer. He did readjust the bow over his back and shove Paul a little as he shouldered past toward the hotel entrance. He let the grin fall from his face when he heard Paul scramble to catch up. 

 

Paul hit the thick glass doors with the butt of his knife and twirled it cleanly around his fingers to aim in preparation. Daryl decidedly did  _ not  _ think that was cool, and did  _ not _ already plan to practice spinning his own knives when he was alone. 

 

They waited but heard nothing from inside. It had been an occurrence more frequent than not, silence. Stillness. The dead were less active, less visible. 

 

Some Alexandrians and Hilltoppers alike took it as an end to the end, the living taking control again and the dead going back to their place. 

 

It made Daryl anxious. Quiet was never good, it was only the thick moments before everything inevitably went to hell. One of life's hardest learned lessons. 

 

But Paul was leaning toward the more optimistic side and inched the unlocked door open. 

 

It was wrecked inside, but still. Quiet. 

 

They walked softly on the ruined carpet, thick with mildew and dust. Water squeezed up around Daryl's boots as they walked and the sweet smell of rot clawed at his throat. Paul pulled his handkerchief up over his nose. Daryl suffered in silence. 

 

The escalator, thick with rust and dirt, lay buried under a crumbled statue once shadowed by a grand fountain. They kept going. 

 

Paul circled a finger in the air and Daryl nodded, taking point around him and down the service hall. Paul gently rapped on the closed stairwell doors. Nothing answered so Daryl nosed the door open, glad to see it dry. Cluttered, but dry. 

 

He stepped over pieces of a broken chair and watched Paul toe an ancient newspaper open. He tilted his head in interest but gave up reading as mildew ate up the lower text. Daryl motioned he was wasting time. Paul shrugged with a grin, setting up the stairs in a bound. 

 

The second story’s hall door was ripped off and Daryl forced his reacting panic down, breathing deep and walking silently. Paul was nowhere he could see. He ached to lose an arrow, let a fight release the tension in his chest, but the hall was eerily empty as well. 

 

One of the hall doors was open so he tiptoed over, snapping his aim around the room but raising it to the roof when he saw Paul sitting on the foot of the bed. 

 

“I was right,” he said, cocky. Adrenalin still buzzed under Daryl's skin. “Beds.”

 

Daryl let his eyes sweep over the room again, feeling his shoulders loosen as he confirmed it was empty. Empty except for Paul, leaning back on his arms and biting his lip intently. Paul and himself, struggling to breathe evenly and ignore how he could topple Paul with one hand and take over the spot on his lips he was worrying.

 

He fiddled with the quiver of arrows over his shoulder. 

 

Paul looked away. “It seems I owe you something now.”

 

“What?” He didn't owe him anything - wait, Paul's offer when they got to the truck, that couldn't be serious -

 

“You told me about your dreams. That makes it my turn,” he shrugged.

 

“I didn't -”

 

“I told you, I want to know you,” Paul waved him off. “And a deal's a deal. What do you want to know?” Daryl's face must have conveyed his confusion because Paul laughed. “Ask me anything.”

 

His arm dropped, bow tapping against the ground. Paul's smile widened. “Why d'ya wear that stupid coat?” fell from his mouth before his brain kicked into gear. 

 

Paul's voice was thick with mirth, “Same as why you tie your pants with boot strings. Harder to get at skin. Which, while all good most of the time, seems to be a bit of a problem right now.” His lips quirked sideways and his eyes dropped over Daryl's frame before he snapped them back up. “Come here,” he said as he slid the coat down his arms. “Daryl, please.” 

 

Daryl blinked and dropped the rest of his gear before edging closer. Paul opened his legs, an invitation to stand between, but he kept his distance. Whatever Paul was getting at, whatever he was asking for … it was too much. “Still ‘ave to secure th’ buildin’.” His tongue was too dry and thick to talk. 

 

“Close the door,” Paul breathed as he reached up to trail his hand down the frayed front of his flannel. His hand burned Daryl's skin through the fabric. 

 

Daryl felt himself sway toward the touch before he turned heel to slam the door. He cringed, hearing the noise echo through the hall, and shoved the room's desk over as a secondary barricade. He shut his eyes and tried to catch his breath as the implications of the rustling behind him swam behind his eyelids. 

 

Paul hadn't left his spot on the bed when Daryl turned back, but he had wiggled free from his outerwear. He was half done unbuttoning his shirt when Daryl caught his sure hands in his own shaking ones. He grinned but didn't mention it as Daryl slowly rested his knees on the bed between his legs. 

 

Paul opened his mouth to say something dangerous and stupid; Daryl silenced him. 

 

Whatever he had meant to say couldn't have been better than the feeling of their lips sliding together, Paul's thighs twitching around his, his hands buried in Paul's hair.

 

Paul grabbed his hips and shuffled their legs around, pulling him down flush and and  _ fuck _ , that was even  _ better _ . 

 

Paul's hands circled greedily on Daryl's hips and he dropped his face between them with a moan, leaving Daryl's lips stuttering over his skin. He mumbled pleas against Daryl's collar and dug his fingers in rough paths down his chest.  

 

Daryl pulled back, pushing Paul in the process. The mattress squeaked and dust puffed up around him but neither cared. Paul fell dramatically, arms out by his head, eyes heavy, and he grinned as he rolled his hips. Daryl's breath caught. He tilted his hips and pushed back, feeling how hard Paul already was against him. He was so gorgeous, hands clenching at air, mouth falling open with a sigh. He could hardly look at him, it was all too much. He came back to himself when Paul reached up for him again. 

 

With more grace than he thought he had, Daryl slipped off the bed and to his knees. Paul sat up over him silently, barely daring to breathe. Daryl didn't look up, he couldn't look up, so he grabbed at Paul's fly with both hands. They shook. 

 

Paul brushed his hair out of his face, pushing his bangs to the side with a gentle thumb. “You don't -” he started. Daryl yanked down his pants and Paul's words choked into nothing. 

 

Daryl dared a single glance up. Paul had his head down - eyes closed and mouth open. He couldn't resist kissing him, one hand wrapping in his hair, one dragging over his thigh, as he pulled him to the edge of the mattress. Paul whined and Daryl felt it rumble against his tongue. Shivers of need rolled down his limbs and he fell back boneless on his boots.

 

He kept his hand woven in Paul's long hair and Paul nuzzled into it as Daryl pulled his underwear down slowly.

 

God, it had been so long. Like riding a bike, though, right? Mouth and tongue and need. The memory of the last time he had been on his knees flashed in his mind unbidden. Grabbing hands, hushed curses, the smell of beer and desperation in the stall as he half fell, half was nudged to the dirty floor. 

 

His fingers wouldn't lay still so he left them to dance up Paul's thigh as he slid cotton dry lips down the side of Paul's cock. The smell of him, so familiar and so foreign, was overwhelming. Daryl felt dizzy and far away. Paul. Paul, no one else. He grabbed onto his legs tight and let his bittersweet memories slip away. 

 

He heard Paul mutter his name as he swirled his tongue around his tip, regretting the morning's cigarette as it had dried his mouth more than nerves did. 

 

Paul didn't seem to mind, gasping against Daryl's palm. Daryl stroked his thumb across his cheek and swallowed him down. Paul's whole body grew tight and he fell silent. Daryl rolled his eyes up on a down stroke and saw bliss clear and powerful on Paul's face. 

 

He shivered, gasping as he pulled off. He pushed Paul's shirt up and kissed his stomach. Paul's cock jumped against his neck as he laughed and ran his nails over Daryl's scalp. The sound grounded him, brought him back to the dusty hotel room glowing with afternoon sun, back to his knees in a position of veneration for the man who had come from nowhere but had come to mean so much. He ached to tell him - instead, he offered himself, hoping to make up for his lack of words. 

 

Paul’s fingertips slid down his neck and Daryl ducked away, holding his dick still as he teased it with lips and tongue. 

 

His name fell broken from blissed out lips again. Paul took his hand from Daryl's neck as if to resist pushing him down. Daryl smirked and swallowed him anyway, tongue flat and wide as he rolled Paul's cock in his mouth. 

 

Paul's fingers were fluttering by Daryl's head so he wound them with his own. Paul held him tight and bit the meat of his other hand to stifle a yell as Daryl flicked his tongue. 

 

That wouldn't do. 

 

Slowly, gently, Daryl pulled him back by the hair, sucking harder as he bent Paul back. Paul squeezed his hand and whined, struggling against the noise.

 

Daryl let his cock go with a pop and watched it jerk against Paul's stomach. “Hear you. Wanna hear you,” he grunted, words tumbling like gravel in his throat. He blew cool air over Paul's sensitive wet skin and sucked precome from the tip as the needy noises falling from Paul's mouth filled the empty room. His grip on Daryl's hand grew even tighter as he pushed back.

 

He writhed in Daryl's grip, falling to his elbows for balance. Daryl moved to a crouch for better access and released Paul's hair, trailing his hand down his face and neck to the remaining buttons of his shirt. He tugged them loose and ran his hand the length of Paul's body as he shook under him. 

 

“Gonna, Daryl, I'm -” Paul's warning died off as Daryl gently ran his teeth over his cock and he came, head back on the comforter as he moaned. 

 

Daryl struggled not to choke - not like Paul was paying attention. His hips jumped off the bed, chasing Daryl as he wiped his mouth in the back of his hand. Paul gasped once more and the tension left his body all at once, leaving him breathless in the bed. 

 

Daryl crawled up on hands and unsteady legs, waiting for Paul's eyes to flutter open. 

 

He wasn't prepared for the whole body attack Paul launched from below - he was gripped between knobby knees and pulled down to a kiss more open mouthed need than lips. Paul panted something against him but the words were lost.

 

His hands were guided missiles, though, throwing him off balance and over to the side. Paul followed and rolled them both off the bed. Daryl landed heavy on his back, feeling the air leave his lungs with a painful heave as Paul's hands slipped from his shoulders to brace on his chest. 

 

Paul swore silently as Daryl's lungs burned and they waited in a tense tangle for the noise to attract anything. Ten, fifteen, twenty seconds of silence and Paul ran out of patience. He guided his missiles for Daryl's pants, maneuvering between their bodies to open them as he ground his thigh along Daryl's trapped erection. 

 

“You don’-”

 

“Shut up,” Paul whispered before he took Daryl's lip between his teeth and his cock in his hand. He moaned deep and low, stroking him as he continued to move their bodies together. 

 

Daryl couldn't make a sound. He screwed his eyes shut and met Paul's movements with desperate thrusts, scared shitless but unable to stop. Too much, it was all too much …

 

He grabbed Paul's hair in both hands and buried his face in his neck. He came hearing Paul gasp, feeling him grind down against him hard as he did. 

 

He held Paul's head to his chest, not wanting to let him slip away. Paul kissed him, nuzzling against his shirt and kissing everywhere he could reach. He moved slowly, up Daryl's neck and over his cheek, kissing up the side of his face until the beard poking at his eyelid threatened to make him laugh. He pushed Paul back to save face and watched a cocky grin cross his face. Paul's smile grew sweet again and he brushed Daryl's hair back, kissing his lips softly before sitting back. 

 

He took a rag from his pocket and cleaned his hand, Daryl's groin and the thread of come on the hem of his shirt. His smile never left. 

 

Daryl ached to touch him, to grab the soft bare skin over his open pants, to hold him and keep him. He curled his hands into fists against their thighs. 

 

He couldn't read the look on Paul's face so he turned away. Shivers raced up his legs and stomach as Paul idly scratched at the joints of his hips.

 

“I guess we should start loading up.” Paul's voice was rough. “While there's still light.”

 

Daryl grunted affirmation. “Check the buildin’.”

 

Paul hummed softly as Daryl sat; he didn't move off his legs. He swayed to the side, his grin catching Daryl's attention. Something was hiding behind his smile.

 

He bit his lip and glanced down instead of speaking it. If he was another man, Daryl would think he was shy. 

 

He knew he was just biding his time before setting off firecrackers. 


	9. Chapter 9

They decided to split up and check out separate levels of the hotel. Daryl stayed on the second floor with some persuading and Paul went up. The door between the stairwell and the floor was jammed on the third so he went up another, planning to double back when they found another set of stairs.

 

He slid silently around a blind corner, one knife held at the ready, another loose in the hand at his side. The hallway was empty. He tiptoed across the carpet to press on the first door - locked. 

 

Damn electric locks. The backup batteries had probably died a while ago and most doors were locked for good. 

 

He  _ may  _ have not thought about that when he half cocked this plan. 

 

Not that he'd tell Daryl. He signed, knowing he wouldn't have to. 

 

There was a door wedged open further down the hall. He tapped the closed doors on his way (fruitlessly) and carefully edged the open one wider. 

 

It was dark inside, too dark for a room facing the afternoon sun, but maybe the shades were drawn. 

 

He stepped in and something whizzed by his ear, wet and cold. He fell to a crouch and backed out as skeletal hands followed.

 

The room was dark because it was packed with the decomposing dead. 

 

He grabbed the door with the toe of his boot but held off closing it as the grabbing stopped. The reaching, the tearing of hands through the air, the toothy chomp of jaws clacking, yes, but the grabbing was held at bay by chains around each dead waist and thigh and shoulder. Loops of thick chain cutting away at rotten skin, leashes on undead guard dogs. 

 

What in the fuck. 

 

Sure nothing could reach him from where they were, Paul pulled the door closed, feeling it click with finality.

 

He backed off down the hall, unsure of whether he should let Daryl in on that little oddity. Bad enough he had neglected to think of what technological failures could lock them out of. But the dead chained up like that? That was an ugly can of worms.

 

Who the hell would just leave them like that?

 

He quickly checked the rest of the hall, opening the operable doors fully and making sure all the rooms were clear. They were, which only made him more nervous. 

 

He turned back to the stairs to meet Daryl below. 

 

Paul didn't see him in the hall. He toyed with his blades as he checked each door. More has been left open than on the higher level, but Daryl was nowhere to be found. 

 

Paul hissed his name and stopped to listen. 

 

There was something shuffling in the stairwell and he near swallowed his heart racing towards it. 

 

Daryl was halfway down the stairs with a thick mattress thumping next to him. He swore as it flopped toward the wall. Paul sighed and slid his knives back into hiding. His panic slid away with them..

 

“You idiot,” he said through a smile, bouncing down the stairs and righting the mattress as Daryl struggled. “You couldn't wait?”

 

“Takin’ too damn long,” he grumbled, swinging around to walk the pillowtop down backwards. He pressed it between his hands and Paul missed a step at the flex of his biceps. “You ‘kay?” Daryl asked as he continued around a corner. 

 

“Oh yeah, great. Just - great,” Paul fumbled, feeling like a fool. He laughed at himself, harder when Daryl threw him a look. Paul motioned with his head down the stairs and they managed to bring the first mattress out with no further problems. 

 

He hopped up the fold out stairs on the side of the truck's lift and they worked the mattress up and in. He dragged it to the front and shook out his arms. The errand was looking like more work than he had halfass planned. 

 

Daryl was crouched retying his boot, laces tight around his calf, and Paul sat on the edge of the lift and watched. His hair looked soft as he shook it from his face and stood. Paul smiled, caught staring. 

 

Daryl ducked his face as he edged closer, shoulders knocking Paul's knees apart. He leaned back on his hands and let Daryl slot himself between them. 

 

Still avoiding eye contact, Daryl grabbed the lip of the truck and with another distracting bunch of his arms and a kick off the folded lift gate, he hosted himself to Paul's level and leaned against his chest. Paul whispered a swear, too enraptured to do anything else, and was silenced as Daryl kissed him. 

 

He grabbed the front of his shirt and tried to drag him closer. Daryl made a half pained noise as he scraped up the metal edge so he loosened his grip. He wrapped his hands around Daryl's bare arms, reveling in their strength as Daryl jimmied himself up. 

 

He trailed his lips up Paul's chest as he stretched into the touch, up his neck and to his lips to whisper against them, “Get back ta work.” Paul blinked and barely caught the sly grin flitter across Daryl's face as he moved up and back, jumping from the truck. “Get this done fast.”

 

Paul, ever quick to recover, smiled back. “Why the rush? Got a hot date tonight?” He bit his tongue but could never hold back from teasing Daryl. 

 

Instead of rising to it, Daryl held out a patient hand to help Paul down. He took it, both knowing it was unnecessary. 

 

“Don't flatter yourself,” Daryl muttered over his head as Paul dusted his pants off. He kicked up dirt tromping through what was once a flowerbed without looking back. 

 

Paul's heart skipped and his feet followed as he traced Daryl's steps. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Daryl's hot date couldn't stop as he collapsed face first on the bed Daryl had first pushed him down on earlier that day. 

 

Fuck, it sure didn't feel like the same day. The way Paul's arms and back screamed was as if they had been hauling furniture nonstop for a damn week. He felt Daryl hit the bed next to him, obviously exhausted but fighting it to keep watch. 

 

Paul flapped a hand out to rest on his thigh and was sawing logs long before Daryl worked up the nerve to wind their fingers together. 


End file.
